


Choreography

by manic_intent



Category: Ant-Man (Movies)
Genre: Alpha!Jimmy Woo, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Full spoilers for Ant Man 2, M/M, No Infinity War, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega!Scott Lang, That Omegaverse AU that takes place pre and post Ant Man 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2018-07-18
Packaged: 2019-06-12 11:35:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15339012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manic_intent/pseuds/manic_intent
Summary: The alpha stood carefully by the biggest window in Scott’s house, keeping his hands to himself. Fate had just decided to fuck with Scott in a major way and the only comfort Scott could take from the mess was that Agent Jimmy Woo looked as freaked out as Scott was. Ofcoursethe first perfectly compatible alpha Scott had ever met in nearly five decades of his life on earth would be his goddamnedcase officer.





	Choreography

**Author's Note:**

> Chinese translation available: http://www.mtslash.net/thread-265691-1-1.html

Until now, Scott’s life had been a series of least-worst outcomes. He’d been sent to prison, sure, but he’d actually made friends in prison. Luis was now his best friend. Hell, Scott was still penpals with some of the lifers. With prison still organised along primary gender lines things could’ve gone much worse for Scott in prison as an omega, and he knew that. 

Scott had screwed up several times since then, even breaking international law, but he’d come out of it still on friendly terms with his ex, his ex’s new mate, and his kid. And instead of being sent back to prison Scott had just been given a two-year stint of house arrest. He was lucky. Until now.

The alpha stood carefully by the biggest window in Scott’s house, keeping his hands to himself. Fate had just decided to fuck with Scott in a major way and the only comfort Scott could take from the mess was that Agent Jimmy Woo looked as freaked out as Scott was. Of _course_ the first perfectly compatible alpha Scott had ever met in nearly five decades of his life on earth would be his goddamned _case officer_. 

The other FBI agents sweeping Scott’s house were betas and were either studiously ignoring them both or genuinely oblivious. Jimmy cleared his throat a couple of times. He’d been all polite smiles when Scott had let them in to put on the ankle bracelet and install the sensors. Then Jimmy had gotten close to shake his hand and… Scott was vaguely aware that he’d scrambled back over the armchair and would’ve fled up the stairs if one of the beta agents hadn’t gotten in his way. 

“Mister Lang,” Jimmy said, in a slightly strangled voice. “I’m very sorry about this.” 

“You couldn’t have known.” Scott was standing behind the armchair now, hands clenched to the back. He was sweating into his shirt, trying not to breathe in too deeply. Jimmy’s pheromones were unsettling his gut and his instincts. Scott wasn’t sure if he still wanted to run. Get close. Try to kick Jimmy’s ass. Go down on his knees—

“I’ll take myself off your case, of course,” Jimmy said, avoiding his eyes. “My deputy, Agent Burleigh, will take over.” 

“Which one’s Burleigh?” Scott asked. 

Jimmy nodded at the door. Burleigh had been the huge beta who had gotten into Scott’s way. He was now running a sensor wand over the walls, checking for tech. Scott tried not to visibly wilt, but Jimmy started to frown. “He’ll be completely professional,” Jimmy said. 

“Yeah, I’m sure.” House intrusions by betas weren’t going to be so bad. Objectively speaking. Scott tried to breathe through his mouth. Being this near Jimmy was already making him a little dizzy. Jimmy didn’t even look like a conventional alpha. He was shorter than Scott and built along stocky lines, prim and neat and understated. He had kind eyes. “Do you have to take yourself off the case?” 

Jimmy looked surprised at the question. “Well. We’re…” He trailed off with a polite cough. “My judgment may be impaired. And it’ll be unethical. Not to mention probably unfair to you.” 

Fair? Scott let out a harsh laugh. “Funny words from a cop.” 

“We _are_ capable of fairness, Mister Lang,” Jimmy said mildly. “Which you may have learned had you decided to tip off the Bureau about VistaCorp instead of trying to turn vigilante.”

Scott grit his teeth. Getting angry was a relief. Fury was clean and easy to understand. “Fuck you.” 

Instead of getting angry, or irritated, Jimmy smiled. He didn’t even look phased. “Nice meeting you, Mister Lang,” Jimmy said. He looked over for the closest agent. “Reese, could you get Burleigh for me?” 

“Wait,” Scott said, but Jimmy ignored him as he turned and headed out of the house. “ _Wait_ , damn it.” Scott caught up at the porch, grabbing Jimmy by the elbow. He winced as an alarm went off by the window. Someone peered out of it, looked at Jimmy and Scott, and ducked back in at a gesture from Jimmy.

“You just broke the terms of your house arrest,” Jimmy said, and chuckled at the way Scott tensed up. “It’d take a few days to get used to, but try not to do that again, okay?” Jimmy pushed Scott back past the door with an easy strength that he didn’t look like he had. “Oh, and if you hear from Hank or Hope, call us.” Jimmy pulled a card out from his inner jacket. 

Scott wanted to throw the card into Jimmy’s face, but he took it numbly instead. Yelped as Burleigh shouldered past. Jimmy tensed up, his jaw tightening, then he blinked and shook himself and retreated hastily to the road. He spoke quietly to Burleigh, who did a double take and stared over his shoulder at Scott. Then Jimmy patted Burleigh on the shoulder and got into a sedan, driving off.

Burleigh walked back up to the porch, schooling his expression into a blank stare when he realized Scott was watching him. “We’ll be out of your hair soon, Mister Lang,” he said and forced a friendly smile. “Two years will be over in no time.”

“Yeah, fucking right,” Scott muttered. He watched the empty road, unnerved. “Uh. Can I ask you a question about Agent Woo?” 

The smile faded. “No.” Burleigh pushed past him back into the house, ‘accidentally’ shoving Scott into the frame of the door as he went. 

“Hey, what was that for?” Scott snapped. 

Burleigh turned as he was heading up the stairs, impassive again. “Don’t get any ideas. Friendly warning.” 

“What?” 

“You’re a felon, Mister Lang,” Burleigh said flatly, “and frankly, you got off lightly. So don’t push it.”

#

“You okay?” Paxton asked, when Maggie and Cassie went into the kitchen to reheat the huge lasagne that Maggie had brought.

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?” Scott asked. He’d aired out the house after the FBI had gone over it with a fine comb and found nothing. 

“You kinda look. Uh.” Paxton gestured awkwardly at his face. Like Maggie and Cassie—and most of the world—Paxton was a beta. 

“I _did_ just have a herd of people stomp around the house like they were doing a drug bust,” Scott said. 

“Oh. Right. Uh. They probably won’t do it again if you don’t put a foot out of line. You got Agent Woo, right? He’s head of a new Bureau unit here. They handle all the Supers. People with powers. Or tech.” 

“You’ve met him?” Scott tried not to visibly perk up with interest. 

“Well yeah. We all did. The FBI interviewed every person of interest in your case. Including Gale.” Scott flushed with embarrassment and Paxton said, more kindly, “It’s okay. Character witnesses, right? Guy seemed fair to me. Friends in the Bureau told me he’s from SHIELD. Transferred into the FBI.” Paxton lowered his voice, with a glance over at the kitchen. 

“SHIELD?” Scott wrinkled his nose. He’d heard Captain America discussing something about SHIELD and ‘Hydra’ with the Falcon, but the whole business in Germany had been rather traumatic and Scott didn’t honestly remember much. “Isn’t that a step down? To go to the FBI?”

“Yeah. Don’t know why that happened. He got set up as head of this new Supers unit here and I guess you’re a test case.” 

“Lucky me.” 

Paxton frowned at him. He glanced back over at Maggie and hustled Scott away to the other end of the house. “Why? Something happened?” 

“No. Nah.”

“C’mon. You can tell me.” 

Scott rubbed the heel of one hand over his temple and stared into Paxton’s honest face. “Okay. You know I’m an omega, right.”

“Yeah, Maggie said, uh. Though. Cassie was through her?”

Scott nodded. Cassie had been a tricky pregnancy for Maggie, which was normal for pregnancies on female betas by male omegas. If Scott could’ve carried her in Maggie’s place he would’ve. “It’s not about Cassie. Uhm. So. Agent Woo, he’s an alpha.” 

Paxton’s face visibly darkened. “So something happened.” 

“No! No. Well. Not really. Funny thing about life, I mean. Omegas are what, twenty percent of the population? Alphas at ten? And normally I would say, don’t believe Hollywood, man. I met a lot of alphas in prison and nothing happened, hell, I’m even penpals with some of them still…” Scott trailed off with a deep breath. Paxton was looking even more agitated now. 

“Scott. What happened?” 

“Don’t believe Hollywood until it’s my life, I guess. You know all those sappy romcom films about perfect matches? Yeah, I know right, in reality, it’s what, one of a million, you might as well try to win the lottery—”

Paxton stared at him, blinking slowly. “So. You’re telling me. Agent Woo is your. Your…” 

“Yeah. Perfect compatibility. Knew it nearly instantly. It freaked him the hell out and he kinda. Excused himself and set his deputy as the case officer. Fled the premises really.” That kinda hurt.

“Oh. Right.” Paxton still looked uncomfortable. 

“So nothing happened,” Scott said firmly. “Shit. I’m sorry I brought it up. Just leave it, okay? I’ll be fine. Some other agent is my case officer now. Two years will just fly past.”

#

The days crawled by. It was better than prison, but two weeks in Scott was already ready to climb the walls. Hope and Hank weren’t answering calls. Scott had spent a few instructive days trying to figure out whether the FBI had bugged his house (No) and a few days setting up a new business with Luis and the others (a disaster). He signed up with an agency for freelance coding work and somehow managed to get just enough work to keep the bills paid. Still meant living on the bare minimum though. Especially after paying child support.

Maggie had tried to have an awkward conversation with Scott about holding off on alimony until after the house arrest. Scott insisted. Paxton had been right. Scott had already neglected his duties as a parent for years. And now he’d done this to them. Gotten them questioned by the _FBI_. Continuing to pay child support was the least that Scott could do. He swore to himself that he wasn’t ever going to drop the ball again. 

A month in and Cassie was getting fidgety during her days with Scott. Even with the old PS3 and secondhand board games. At least free-to-air TV sometimes helped. Scott was watching some colourful cartoon with Cassie when the broadcast abruptly flicked away to the news. Downtown. A building was on fire, caught up in a column of smoke. Whatever it was, it looked over.

“Hey, it’s that guy,” Cassie said, pointing at a corner of the screen. Scott sucked in a soft breath. It _was_ Jimmy, standing close to an overturned car, exhausted and a little singed. He frowned as the reporter made a bee-line to him and straightened up instinctively—then winced, holding his flank. He was hurt. Scott clenched his hands over his lap. The air felt like it had all been punched out of his lungs all of a sudden.

“No comment,” Jimmy said crisply. He turned his back on the camera, gesturing curtly. Agents converged on the reporter and her cameraman, hustling them quickly off the crime scene. The image went dark. There was a pause, then the cartoon was back.

“Weird,” Cassie said. 

“TV gets funny that way sometimes,” Scott told her. He tried to sound as nonchalant as he could, but Cassie shot him a perceptive stare. 

“He asked me some questions about you. I told him I don’t talk to the popo.” Cassie grinned proudly.

“Oh you did, did you?” Scott was torn between wanting to laugh or feeling horrified. He imagined Cassie being put on a no-fly list. Worse. Wasn’t it a crime or something? Contempt of cop?

“Yeah, he laughed.” Cassie scowled. “I told him it wasn’t funny and he laughed some more? So I said it was mean of him to arrest you since you’re a hero. And he said sometimes even heroes make mistakes. And that anyone who makes a mistake just has to pay for it. Went on about how you owed a debt to society.” She rolled her eyes. “I said he was full of shit.” 

“Language, young lady,” Scott said, fascinated. This was like watching an extremely tiny, cute train collision in slow motion.

“I don’t see why. Mum says that word. Paxton says lots of bad words. When he’s playing Xbox with Gale and they think I’m asleep.”

“Really, tell me more.” Scott grinned. He was never going to let Paxton live that down. 

“So he laughed again and let me go back to Mum without asking any more questions.” Cassie looked back at the Scrabble board. “Luis said the popo are all bad but he didn’t tell me they were all weird.” 

“Hey, Paxton is a cop. They’re not all bad.” 

Cassie frowned. “Luis said Paxton could be a special case.” 

“You shouldn’t listen to Luis. He’s also full of shit.” Scott loved Luis like a brother but the man was chaos personified. 

Cassie glowered at Scott. “You just scolded me for the same word!”

“When you’re an adult you can say anything you like,” Scott told her, and snickered when she stuck out her tongue. 

The house was always quieter after Maggie swung by to pick Cassie up. Scott lay on the couch, watching TV without actually watching, the volume turned down low. None of the news channels had anything about the incident in the afternoon. Or the internet. The Fix was In. Scott palmed Jimmy’s card from his pockets and stared at the phone number. He was pretty sure Jimmy hadn’t actually meant to give him his personal card. Not with Burleigh at hand. But there it was, printed on heavy stock. _Federal Bureau of Investigation, Special Agent Jimmy Woo._ And a cell phone number. 

Scott fished out his phone. Stared at the card. Stared back at his phone. Jimmy was effectively a stranger. Worse, he was in a position to completely fuck Scott’s life over. Still. The way he’d winced on TV. The way he’d just got on with the job as though the injury hadn’t mattered. Scott took in a slow breath and typed. 

**Scott:** u ok? saw u on tv

He regretted sending the message instantly. Too late now. Maybe Jimmy wouldn’t reply. Or maybe he’d just hand it over to Burleigh. Scott yelped as his phone pinged him. 

**Jimmy:** Mr. Lang? 

Shit. So it was going to be like that. 

**Scott:** yeah  
**Scott:** sorry  
**Scott:** to bother you

There was a long pause. 

**Jimmy:** Is this about Hope van Dyne or Hank Pym?

Scott scowled. 

**Scott:** no  
**Jimmy:** Should you have any further need to contact the FBI, you may reach Agent Burleigh at xxx-xxx-xxxx. Thank you for your cooperation. 

Scott breathed out. Well. That hadn’t been one of his better ideas. Not that embarrassing himself was really anything new. He turned his phone off and curled up on the couch, closing his eyes and rubbing his chest. It ached somehow. Everything ached.

#

It started as a prank. A drunken prank. Luis had brought the guys over and they’d drunk to their first contract. Around the time when vodka shots were starting to blur into one, Scott had sent out a series of texts. In the morning, as Scott slowly unstuck his face from the floor, he unlocked and checked his phone.

“Shit!” 

Luis woke up instantly from the armchair. Part of being the possible Prince of Chaos meant that Luis didn’t get hungover, and could, in fact, wake up after a night of getting absolutely hammered fully charged and perky. “Scotty? What? What?” 

Scott, on the other hand, tried to talk, choked, and had to rush off to the closest bathroom to throw up. After he flushed and washed his face, he slunk blearily back into the living room. “I think I drunk-texted the FBI,” he said slowly, pointing at his phone. 

Luis flinched. Dave was still snoring on the couch, out like a light. Kurt was lying under the side table, blubbering gently. “You did what?” 

“I had my case officer, I mean the ex-case officer’s, his phone number, I saved it on my phone.” Scott rubbed his hand over his face. 

Slowly, as though approaching a land mine, Luis edged over and peered at the phone. “Okay. Good news is, he didn’t answer any of the texts and it’s 10 in the morning.” 

“Great.” 

“Bad news is…” Luis trailed off, scrolling up. “Wow.”

“What do you mean, ‘wow’?” Scott demanded, panicked. He lunged for his phone, but Luis ducked out of reach. 

“You sent him like, a million texts. Apparently, you’re really sad that he doesn’t want to talk to you. And you think the FBI are dicks because Hope and Hank had nothing to do with Germany and it was all your fault, not theirs. And that you like John Woo movies and wonder if he’s related.” Luis frowned at Scott over the phone. “Really? Which one?”

“Give me that.” Scott swiped his phone from Luis. He scrolled up. Scrolled some more. “Mother of God.”

“Maybe he blocked you,” Luis said, over his shoulder. “Or. Maybe he’s recording all this somewhere on your file. Is it a felony to harass an FBI agent?”

“Kill me now,” Scott said miserably. He dragged himself over to the kitchen to make himself coffee. 

“At least he hasn’t blocked you?” Luis said, coming over to pat Scott comfortingly on the back. 

“Probably because he’s recording it in my file. Like you said.” Maybe Scott could drown himself in the coffee jug if he really tried. 

“Could be worse,” Luis said. 

“Like how?”

“The last time I drunk-texted someone was before I went to prison? Just before. My Aunt Annamarie, she’s a real woman that one, not to say that other women aren’t real, more like she’s a real _battleaxe_ of a woman, I respect all women, so she runs this dog walking company, really successful, I used to help her out in it growing up—”

“Are you still talking to Annamarie?” Scott cut in.

“Yes?” 

“Is the FBI involved?”

“No?”

“Probably not worse then,” Scott said gloomily. 

“Okay look,” Luis said, patting Scott’s shoulder, “the popo, they really like kicking down people’s doors and rushing in all guns blazing and deporting people. So the fact that we’re having coffee right now, about to have breakfast, standing in your kitchen in our underwear in a totally platonic way? Means all the drunk texting didn’t matter? So don’t do it again?” 

Underwear? Scott looked down. “Shit.”

#

There were only so many times someone could watch Frozen before it started to affect their mental health, in Scott’s opinion. If he ever had to stand in the dock in a courtroom and explain why he’d sent Jimmy a ‘Happy Thanksgiving’ text, that would be his defense.

No reply, of course.

#

After some judicious Googling, Scott figured that Jimmy had probably blocked his number. That’s why he never responded. The messages just looked delivered to Scott, while Jimmy never actually got them. Luis had shot him a patently dubious stare when Scott had put forward this opinion, but he had to concede Scott’s point when Scott tried to call Jimmy and the call went straight to voicemail.

So what the hell. It wasn’t like Jimmy—or anyone—was ever going to read all these texts. This could be Scott’s therapy space. Since he couldn’t afford an actual therapist and there was only so much balm that an old Playstation could apply to his soul. Besides, the election season was fucking depressing.

#

**Scott:** u know what’s the point  
 **Scott:** of superheroes  
 **Scott:** cap and stuff  
 **Scott:** captain America**  
 **Scott:** when now there’re nazis in America man  
 **Scott:** cheetolini in the white house  
 **Scott:** what even is the fucking point  
 **Scott:** next thing u’d be telling me cap is a secret nazi or something  
 **Scott:** nothing’s gonna surprise me anymore  
 **Scott:**  
 **Scott:** nevermind  
 **Scott:** u’d never read this anyway

#

Some nights Scott thought about putting on the Ant Man suit. He couldn’t bring himself to dispose of it, even though he knew it was crazy to have it in his house. Having something hidden on his shelf that could send him to prison. He could get out of his stupid ankle monitor in a flash. Attach it to an ant and tell it to walk around his house.

He could go outside, small enough that nobody would notice. That’s why he’d loved Pym tech as much as he had. It wasn’t just the superhero stuff. He’d never really felt like he’d belonged in any of the high-stakes stuff. Scott loved it because Pym tech was like hacking reality itself. Could make him invisible or the biggest fucking thing for miles. The engineer in Scott loved it all. And it’d nearly ruined his life for good. 

That was probably why he still kept it. Scott would be the first to admit that he had a self-destructive streak a mile wide. Each time he got away with it—or didn’t—it just got worse. 

**Scott:** ur right  
**Scott:** I should’ve called it in  
**Scott:** I mean, idk if u guys would’ve taken it seriously  
**Scott:** whistleblowing that is  
**Scott:** I had evidence but  
**Scott:** never works out well right?  
**Scott:** look at all the ppl in prison and stuff  
**Scott:** snowden had to flee to russia  
**Scott:** chelsea manning was charged with a million offences  
**Scott:** not that I had govt secrets  
**Scott:** vistacorp tho big GOP donors  
**Scott:** thought it’d just be covered up and I’d disappear  
**Scott:** if I could do anything different  
**Scott:** I would’ve covered up my tracks  
**Scott:** crashing the car into the pool was overdoing it  
**Scott:** I’m not sorry about giving all the money back 

Scott tossed the phone aside, the knot in his chest easing a little. He was smoking a joint, feeling deliciously mellow. He pushed his hand into his pants, imagining Jimmy’s frown, remembering the easy way Jimmy had just pushed him back in place under the door. Scott stroked his cock idly and pushed his hand lower, past his balls to the wet seam behind them, stroking. 

He didn’t usually like to do this to himself. If Scott wanted to get off, he’d usually make a fist and fuck into it, watch porn if he had to. Jimmy changed all that. Scott used to prefer to be the one doing the fucking. He knew he had a nice cock and he liked to use it. Now he got off more quickly pushing fingers inside himself, three to the knuckles, getting them wet with his own slick. If Jimmy was a typical alpha he’d probably be big. Bigger than Scott’s fingers. And he’d have a knot to boot. Not that Scott had ever taken one—he hadn’t really been much into alphas before. Scott tried to imagine what it was like to be held down and fucked and knotted and stifled a groan as his cock jerked and soiled his shirt. 

Grumbling, Scott slunk off to get cleaned up and changed.

#

Jimmy wasn’t even present when Burleigh came by to get the ankle bracelet off. “Congratulations,” Burleigh said.

“It was a boring two years,” Scott told him brightly. And it had been, until Hope had pretty much kidnapped Scott back into the superhero life near the end. Burleigh shrugged. 

“Stay out of trouble, Mister Lang.” Burleigh waited until the other agents filed out of Scott’s house. Then he took a small brown envelope from his coat and passed it over. 

“What’s this?” There was something rectangular inside, not that heavy. 

“I don’t know and I don’t care,” Burleigh said. He inclined his head and walked out, closing the front door neatly behind him. 

Scott sat on his couch and ripped the envelope open. It was an old Nokia phone, fully charged. No password. There was only a single number saved into the contacts, ‘JW’. Scott felt himself grinning so broadly that his jaw hurt. He nearly called the number immediately, then hesitated—was that kinda desperate? Maybe he should test the waters.

 **Scott:** JW? Like John Wick? 

There was a long pause.

 **JW:** Funny.  
**JW:** I didn’t like that movie.  
**Scott:** b/c dog death?  
**JW:** Because it’s too choreographed. Also the premise is ridiculous.  
**JW:** Also I’m not related to John Woo.  
**JW:** Wish I was.  
**Scott:** ya? what’s ur fav john woo movie  
**JW:** A Better Tomorrow  
**Scott:** HOW IS THAT LESS UNREALISTIC THAN JOHN WICK  
**JW:** I didn’t say John Wick was unrealistic  
**JW:** I just said it’s too choreographed  
**JW:** Like playing Call of Duty with an aim bot.  
**Scott:** SFGHFK fighting words  
**JW:** You watch HK action films?  
**Scott:** yeah why

It had been a long two years, after all. Scott had started off watching John Woo’s _The Killer_ when he’d been stoned one day and had then spent the whole week binging his filmography. It had snowballed from there. He still wasn’t sure if that had been good for his brain. There was a long pause between texts. 

**JW:** Interesting.  
**JW:** What’s your favourite  
**Scott:** infernal affairs  
**JW:** Seriously?  
**Scott:** y

Another long pause. Scott had only really tried _Infernal Affairs_ because he’d seen the Hollywood remake. The original, unsurprisingly, was a lot better. 

**JW:** What about Korean films?  
**Scott:** haven’t tried any  
**Scott:** unless you count okja and snowpiercer  
**Scott:** those were depressing tho  
**JW:** Try A Bittersweet Life. 

Scott was about to ask Jimmy a question about the film when he hesitated. 

**Scott:** wait  
**Scott:** u said u weren’t related to john woo  
**Scott:** u were reading my msgs all this while????  
**JW:** Yes?  
**Scott:** I THOT U BLOCKED ME  
**JW:** I can’t block numbers on that phone  
**JW:** It’s my work phone.  
**Scott:** SO ITS IN MY FILE 

Another long pause. This time the phone began to ring. Scott’s hands felt sweaty as he picked up. “It’s hardly the worst or weirdest thing in your file,” Jimmy said. 

Scott made a strangled sound. Listening to Jimmy’s voice after so long—outside of a pre-recorded voicemail message—somehow felt weirdly overwhelming. Jimmy was still a stranger. Scott might have spent the last couple of years possibly oversharing, but Jimmy was still a blank. It shouldn’t feel like they were friends. 

“Scott?” Jimmy asked. 

“Uh yeah.” Scott took in another breath. “Um. Wow. So a new phone?” He quietly smacked himself on the face. Way to sound normal, Scott.

“It’s a burner phone.” Jimmy paused. “Force of habit.” 

“And you’re using one too? What. Because being friendly with a felon is what, a no-no for the FBI?” Scott tried not to feel hurt about that. It made sense. 

This time the silence stretched so long that Scott was tempted to apologise. He’d have thought that Jimmy had hung up, if he couldn’t hear the faint sound of quiet breathing. “Things are complicated,” Jimmy said. 

“Like how?”

“You’re technically still under my watch. As a ‘powered’ individual in San Francisco. I don’t even know if I should be talking to you right now. Even after your sentence. I wanted to keep things professional. Even with the… biological situation.”

“Oh.” Scott couldn’t hide his disappointment. Then he scowled. “Why the hell did you get your minions to pass me this phone then?” 

Jimmy went quiet again. He exhaled. “Two years.”

“What?”

“You’ve been writing to me for two years. Why?” 

“Like I said, I thought you blocked me,” Scott said defensively. “After the time I messaged you while drunk.”

“I see.” At least Jimmy sounded amused. “After that?” 

“It was kinda therapeutic,” Scott admitted. “I mean, I didn’t think you were even reading any of it. All the stuff I couldn’t talk to my friends about.”

“Your messages. That’s why I got Burleigh to pass you this phone. I liked reading them. Started looking forward to them. I think you’re genuinely a good person. Funny, even. Somewhat misguided. But you mean well and…” Jimmy trailed off. “I was waiting to be able to write back.” 

“That’s all you wanted to do?” 

“What?” 

“Write back.” Scott prompted. When Jimmy went quiet again, this time Scott didn’t want to wait. “Lunch. Can we do lunch? Like normal people? Or do you want to do it in like, Mister Potatohead disguises or something. Glasses, fake moustache—”

Jimmy started to laugh, a warm rumbling sound that Scott tried to bottle up in his memory for easy rewind. “That wouldn’t be necessary.”

#

“You’re the king of bad decisions,” Hope said, when Scott finally told her about it. They were in a car lurking beneath a bridge, waiting for Hope’s latest shady contact to show up with some new part that her parents needed.

“Why’s that?” Scott asked. 

Hope sniffed. “You’re dating an FBI agent. That’s bad enough. But you’ve gone above and beyond, dating the boss of California’s Powers division. Seriously. Do you know how powerful Agent Woo is? Ghost talked to us about him. Now that she’s on friendly terms with us. She knew of him in SHIELD. She said she always felt he left to join the FBI only on Director Fury’s orders.”

“Powerful? He’s got superpowers?”

“No. I meant influence. A word from him could get you hunted down by a pack of people just like Ghost. Hustled into a black site where you’d disappear forever.”

Hope was always into the worst case scenario. “Why would someone that important personally show up to my house to talk to me about my house arrest?” 

“I don’t know, Scott. Why did he?” Hope scowled at him. “I know I’m a beta and maybe I’m missing some subtext. But he had to know that you’re an omega.” 

Scott flinched. “It’s really not like that.”

“That’s what you think,” Hope said darkly. “Why do you think alphas are disproportionately incarcerated? It’s in the studies. They’re biologically aggressive. Not saying they’re bad people. Just that they sure as hell tend to either end up in the military or in the police. Or in jail. Often for crimes against omegas.” 

“Look, if he wanted to take advantage of his position or whatever, he wouldn’t have ignored me for two years.”

“Yeah, and now you’re begging him for attention. He didn’t even have to do much.” 

Scott scowled. “I’m not.” 

“You’re naive is what you are,” Hope told him. “He’s an alpha. In law enforcement, sure, but they don’t often get promoted too high. The fact that he made it to SHIELD—became senior enough to be part of Director Fury’s inner circle—then again to where he is now in the FBI? He would’ve done it by mastering a balancing act. He knows how to cover his ass. That’s one thing I like about this situation. If you play it right, he’s got way more to lose than you do.”

Scott shrank into his seat. Hope’s words made an ugly sort of sense. “I just want things to be simple,” Scott muttered. 

“Your life hasn’t been simple for a long time and you only have yourself to blame,” Hope said, as merciless as ever. She looked sharply to her left at the sound of an oncoming car. “Remember the plan.” 

“Yup. Yeah.” Scott pulled on his helmet. 

Before he could shrink down, Hope grasped his elbow. “Scott. I don’t know what’s it like to. The alpha and omega thing,” Hope said, uncomfortably. “So I could be wrong.”

“But you don’t think that you are.”

“Just be careful, okay?” Hope hesitated. “And call me if you need me. Whenever.” 

“Yeah. Thanks.” The headlights were getting brighter. Game on.

#

Hope’s words gnawed at Scott through the week. Jimmy had been too busy to meet—had actually even gone quiet until Sunday. It wasn’t new. Jimmy was a workaholic. Even when he met Scott on a date he usually couldn’t help checking his phone. Scott wished he could be pissed about that, but Jimmy was always so apologetic that Scott let it slide. Scott would let Jimmy get away with anything. Just like now, agreeing to meet Jimmy for drinks when he wasn’t sure if he still should.

Jimmy was late to the bar and looked harassed as he sat down at Scott’s table on the couch at the back. “Sorry,” Jimmy kept apologising. “Got caught up at work.”

“On a Sunday?” Scott asked. He tried to sound playful about it, but the question was edged instead. Jimmy eyed him, startled. Scott had always just laughed off Jimmy’s perennial tendency to run late to things before. 

“Yeah,” Jimmy said. He ordered a glass of red and smiled at Scott. “How’d your day go?”

“Probably better than yours. Took Cassie to watch the new Incredibles film.” 

“Ah right. How was the film?” 

“Not sure if you’d like it. Or maybe you would. World where superheroes are illegal and it’s easier for people to just sort stuff out through insurance.” 

Jimmy narrowed his eyes. He said nothing until his wine arrived, and ordered a second round of beer for Scott. “Okay,” Jimmy said carefully, “what did I do this time?”

“Nothing.”

“Yeah, right. You’re in a mood.” 

“Just stating facts, you mean.” Scott _was_ in a mood. He usually was, whenever Jimmy was close by. Breathing in alpha pheromones— _Jimmy’s_ pheromones—this close was like getting high on the good stuff. Made him mellow and handsy. Today he was unsettled enough that his inclinations clashed. Hurt him in his gut. 

“Want to talk about it?” Jimmy asked, getting amused instead of annoyed. 

Scott scowled. He wished he could settle down. Or climb into Jimmy’s lap. He shook his head to clear it. The annoying thing about being human on top of being an omega meant this continuous state of attraction to what his body weirdly thought was his optimal mate. It’d have been nice to be like an animal. Have a breeding season or a heat once a year or whatever and stay sane for the rest of the year. But no. Humans had to be like fucking rabbits.

“Not really,” Scott muttered. 

“That’s the film with the Asian short film before it, isn’t it?”

“Bao, yeah. It was… nice?” 

“You don’t sound very certain.” 

“Cassie kinda screamed when the—” Scott caught himself. “Oops. Spoilers. I guess we both didn’t really get it. Which was okay. Someone once told me that the good thing about books is you get to live a thousand lives that aren’t yours. Kinda think the same about films.” 

Jimmy relaxed. Talking about films was easier. Scott didn’t know where Jimmy even found the time to watch as many films as he seemed to have, and as the bar was closing, he said so. Jimmy studied him, comfortably tipsy enough that his shoulders had loosened. “I don’t have much of a life.”

“Could say that again,” Scott said, himself tipsy enough to tease. 

“I’d work, get home and watch something to decompress. Go to sleep and go back to work. See my parents on Saturdays sometimes. Work on others. Church and youth pastor stuff on Sunday mornings. Then back to work.” Jimmy looked pensive. “Didn’t take days off. Sick days. Vacations. At the beginning, it was because I really believed in what I was doing in Sh… in work. Then it became a habit.”

“In SHIELD?” Scott said, before he could help himself.

Jimmy frowned at him. “What?” 

Scott knew he should play it off. Talk about a lucky guess, about Captain America. Instead, he mumbled, “I hear things.” 

“Like what?” 

“Like how you’re not just the head of some unit here. You’re head of the California Powers division of the Bureau.” God, he couldn’t stop talking. How tipsy was he? “You were a big shot in SHIELD. Close to Director Fury. Joined the Bureau because he told you to. You’re… I don’t even know why you’re here talking to me. Is it really because of two years of fuckwit text messages? Or does SHIELD really, really want to get its hands on Pym tech that badly?”

Jimmy’s face went completely still and blank. “That’s what you really think?”

Scott glowered at him, belligerent. “It’s all fucking true, isn’t it?” 

“Who’ve you been talking to?”

“Hah, like I’m gonna tell you that.” Scott fumbled for his glass and nearly knocked it off the table. Jimmy caught it at the last moment, set it aside, then pressed a cup of water into his hand. 

“Drink,” Jimmy said quietly. “If that’s what you think, why are you here? Why bother talking to me?”

“Because I’m naive,” Scott growled. His hand shook as he drank, splashing water on his wrist. “I’m fucking naive, all right? Which you know, is kinda rich as an assessment, coming from someone whose dad just wanted to use me. Same deal the second time, except it was the both of them, not Hank. People just wanna use me and I fall for it every fucking time.” He froze as his brain caught up with his mouth. Shit. He’d pretty much just confessed to Jimmy that he’d been in touch with Hope. _Shit_. 

“For your sake,” Jimmy said, with deliberate care, “I’m going to forget everything that you’ve just said. Go home and sleep things off, Scott. And don’t contact me again.” He got to his feet stiffly and stalked off. 

Scott stared at the water in his hand and groaned, pressing his forehead to the table. “Fuck.”

#

Scott woke up on the couch with his head propped up on a pillow, surrounded by large ants. They ignored him as they scuttled around picking up trash on the ground, replacing books on shelves. One enterprising ant was even vacuuming.

“What the fuck,” Scott said, or tried to. His voice sounded thick to his ears. He groaned, pulling the pillow over his head. He had a throbbing headache. 

Something clicked down on the table. “Hangover cure. Mom’s recipe,” Hope said, somewhere to his left. 

Scott risked a bleary look. It was a glass of something liquid, in an uncomfortable shade of lime green. “Is that gonna kill me?”

“I can only hope so,” Hope said, brutal as ever. Scott grumbled, getting up and reaching for the glass. He knocked it all down in a few gulps, grimacing at the bitter taste. Then he slunk off to the bathroom to get washed up. 

Janet’s concoction worked, somehow. Scott was feeling a lot less like death by the time he sidled back into the living room. The large ants were gone and Hope was at his ‘fridge, peering inside, lips pursed with disapproval. “I should’ve bought groceries,” she said.

“Why are you here?” Scott asked.

“Because you called Luis last night, very drunk, I might add, but couldn’t actually tell him where you were. So he called me. We’d installed a tracking beacon on your suit, so we found you pretty easily.” 

“Oh right.” Scott paused. “What else did I tell Luis?” 

Hope eyed him for a long moment. She exhaled, closed the ‘fridge, and walked over to sit on the couch. When she patted the space next to her, Scott sat down as well. “Apparently you’re a very sad and morose drunk,” Hope said. 

Scott’s stomach dropped. “Okay.” 

“I wouldn’t know. By the time I showed up at the bar you’d passed out and they were ready to throw you out. I tried to pay your tab, only to be told that someone else had already done it.” 

“Right.” Scott shrank into the couch. 

“Scott…” Hope trailed off. She stared at her hands. “We’re not… look. We owe you. Me, my parents. We don’t just think of you as our friend. You’re family to us. You, Cassie, even Maggie and Paxton. Hank and I were mad at you after what you pulled in Germany, sure, because we were getting so close to finding Mom and you had to screw the pooch. I’m sorry if you think we were just in it to use you. We weren’t. If you hadn’t had that dream, we would’ve gotten back in touch with you eventually. After we found Mom.” 

Scott swallowed hard. So he’d told Luis everything then. Fuck. “You don’t owe me. You guys pretty much saved me. Without you, and Hank, I’d have just fallen back into bad habits. With Luis. I’d have gone back to jail eventually and lost everything. I was just seriously drunk.” 

“Okay,” Hope said. She squirmed in her seat. “I feel responsible.”

“For what?”

“Come on, I know heartbreak when I see it. You look like hell.”

“I’m fine,” Scott muttered. “This is good, actually. You were right.”

“About what?” Hope asked gently.

“All this. Me being naive.” 

“I don’t know,” Hope said. She grasped Scott’s palm, patting it. “You’re still here. No FBI anywhere. After you pretty much opened your big mouth and confessed everything to a Special Agent.” 

“So?”

“So maybe I was wrong.” Hope stared at Scott. When he merely shot her a blank stare, she said, “Maybe this perfect match thing is really like what Hollywood makes it out to be.” 

“I’ve already fucked it up anyway. Doesn’t matter.” 

“Try apologising. You’d be surprised how often it works. And if it doesn’t?” Hope took a folded piece of paper from her shirt pocket and left it on the table. She grinned. “You’d be surprised what ants can learn.”

#

Jimmy answered the door with a blank expression. “How did you get this address?” he asked.

“You probably don’t want to know.” Scott tried his best ingratiating smile. “Can I come in?” 

Jimmy looked a little pale. Dark smudges under his eyes. It was an ugly hour in the morning, but the ants watching his door had indicated that Jimmy hadn’t come home until half an hour ago. Jimmy frowned at him for a long moment, then he nodded curtly and stepped aside. He was dressed down, in a faded old shirt and soft pants, probably preparing to go to sleep. 

Nice apartment. Expensive. Probably worth more than both Scott’s and Paxton’s houses combined, given the view, the sleek minimal furniture, the elegant kitchen. “Shoes,” Jimmy said, as Scott took a step in. At Scott’s blank stare, Jimmy gestured at the shoe rack. “Take your shoes off.” 

“Oh, uh, right.” Scott pulled his shoes off, relieved that he had new socks on. He followed Jimmy meekly into the living room, trying not to breathe in too deeply. 

The whole apartment was saturated with Jimmy’s scent and pheromones. Scott was getting light-headed just breathing. Maybe this was a bad idea after all. Chasing down Jimmy when he’d pointedly ignored phone calls and messages. Scott was about to apologise and beat a retreat when he saw the TV. There was a film paused on it. 

“You’re seriously watching _The Raid_? To _decompress_?” Scott asked, incredulous.

“It’s a great film,” Jimmy said, still neutral.

“Watching it’s also like mainlining adrenaline. It’s a pretty much a grindhouse film. I mean, that corridor scene with Iko Uwais is awesome, but. You said you watch films to decompress.”

“Prefer the window scene,” Jimmy said. His mouth quirked into a reluctant smile for a second. “What are you doing here?” 

“I wanted to apologise. So. Um, I’m apologising. Sorry for all the shit that came out of my mouth when I was drunk.” 

Jimmy inclined his head. “But you meant it.”

“At the time yeah. Okay look, before you throw me out, yeah, I meant it at the time because. I’m nearly fifty. I’m a divorcee with a kid and a job that’ll maybe break even, _maybe_ , in a year or more. I’m an ex-con and a jackass who doesn’t understand people and I’m really clingy and I didn’t like _A Bittersweet Life_ and I unironically love chimichangas—”

Jimmy chuckled. He shook his head, setting his hands on his hips and averting his eyes, glancing at the TV. It was a rueful sound. “I tried to resign from the FBI. Right before the end of your sentence. Because I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from contacting you. Fury personally talked me out of it. Said there was something else he needed me for, and to wait.” 

“Resign?” Scott gawped. “What for?”

“Conflict of interest,” Jimmy said. He eyed Scott soberly. “I’m in love with you.” He stared at Scott for a long moment as Scott stared back, speechless. “Not because we match biologically. But because it feels like we match on almost everything else. Sometimes being around you makes me feel like I’ve been wasting my life. Makes me wish that I could turn back time, change things, meet you earlier.” Jimmy rubbed a palm over his face. “It’s irrational.”

Scott tried to kick his brain into gear. To say something intelligent. “I really want to kiss you right now,” he said instead, in a strangled tone. 

“Why?” Jimmy asked, suspicious. He tensed as Scott walked right up to him, curling his arms around Jimmy’s back and pressing his mouth to Jimmy’s throat. Breathing him in where the scent was thicker. 

“Say you forgive me,” Scott said, muffled. “Or I’m probably going to embarrass myself by crying and begging and clinging to your leg.” 

The tension shook out of Jimmy with his laughter. “I don’t know, that might be funny.” 

“Okay, if that’s what it takes. Joke’s on you. I have no shame,” Scott said, pretending to slink down Jimmy’s body and snickering when Jimmy yelped and grabbed at his shoulders to steady him. Scott stole a kiss, a quick playful peck, then Jimmy’s hands were on his cheeks, holding him still as he deepened the kiss, licking into his mouth. 

“Fine,” Jimmy said wryly. “I forgive you.” He kissed Scott again, slow and sweet, let Scott kiss him back, hold him close.

“Can we skip ahead?” Scott asked hopefully, when they were panting for air.

“To what?” 

“Make up for lost time. In your bed,” Scott said, hoping he wasn’t about to spook the hell out of Jimmy. Jimmy stared at him in surprise, his eyes going wide and dark. Then he kissed Scott again, roughly now, walking them out of the living room. 

“Tell me you have condoms,” Scott said, as they stumbled into the bedroom. He grinned as Jimmy shivered against him and nodded. They fell against the bed in an awkward tangle, Scott righting himself once on top and getting hauled up for a kiss, grinding against Jimmy’s hip. He could feel himself getting wet and he hadn’t even touched himself between his thighs. Maybe Jimmy could smell it. He was growling against Scott, a low hungry alpha’s rumble, making Scott want to roll on his belly, spread his legs, beg. Scott angled down instead, pulling down Jimmy’s pants and underwear. 

“Nice,” Scott breathed. At Jimmy’s snort, Scott kissed the tip and pretended to scowl. “Don’t be like that. I thought about this a lot.”

“Yeah?” Jimmy’s voice had dropped a notch, lower and gruff. “What about?”

“Thought you’d be big.” Scott licked lazily up Jimmy’s cock, from root up to the faint mass where Jimmy’s knot would grow, up to the thick head that stretched Scott’s mouth as he briefly sucked it in to lick the tip. “Used to touch myself and think about riding you somewhere. On my shitty couch, maybe. In bed.” 

Jimmy groaned, his fingers carding restlessly into Scott’s hair. Scott hummed and let Jimmy pull Scott onto his dick, going slowly. This was going to make Scott’s jaw ache and he welcomed it, taking Jimmy’s heavy cock on his tongue, choking when it pressed against the back of his throat. He couldn’t take much more. Jimmy’s hands held him steady, allowing him to take only what he could. Scott fought against his grip, gagging as he tried to take another inch. His eyes stung and his cock ached, his core. He reached down to touch himself and froze as Jimmy growled a warning. 

It was the slowest blowjob Scott had ever been made to give. Jimmy’s hands stroked over his hollowed cheeks, curled over the back of his neck. Scott could feel Jimmy’s eyes on him, a palpable heat that made him flush to his ears in response, his own hands clenched in the sheets. His voice was going to be wrecked tomorrow and he didn’t even care. Scott let himself get guided up and down, sucking sloppily on what he was given. Jimmy’s thighs were tensing against his shoulders. The air was thick with alpha pheromones and musk and Scott wanted to freeze the moment forever in his mind. When Jimmy urged him up he let out a whine of complaint. 

“Gorgeous,” Jimmy said, low and husky. He stripped them both down impatiently, then fumbled something onto his cock. Scott blinked slowly, allowing Jimmy to arrange him on the bed, cheek on the pillows, ass in the air. “Look at that,” Jimmy whispered. He licked a long stripe up between Scott’s legs before Scott could ask him what he meant. 

Scott yelped, jerking back. “Oh _God_.” Jimmy laughed. He began to lick roughly into Scott, devouring him rather than aiming to please, sucking down slick, loud and obscene. Scott wailed into the pillow, clawing at the sheets. His cock jerked uselessly in the air as he tried to roll his hips back against Jimmy’s mouth, only for Jimmy to hold him still. Making him take it. 

“Jimmy,” Scott whimpered, in between groans. “C’mon, I’m. Let up. I’m gonna come if you keep doing that and I wanna. Do that on your cock.”

Jimmy hissed. He shifted up hurriedly, pressing kisses up Scott’s spine. When Jimmy pushed inside, they both groaned. Scott in relief, Jimmy with what sounded like compressed hunger. Jimmy felt way too big. Didn’t really hurt but the stretch felt like it should, like it was gouging Scott open, like he couldn’t take more. He was gasping in low sobs against the pillow and somehow he was still harder than he’d ever been in his life. Jimmy kissed his throat, breathing hard, fingers twisting against the pillow and the sheets, bracketing Scott in. “Fuck. You feel so good.” 

“You said ‘fuck’,” Scott said, keyed up and dazed with lust and yet somehow starting to laugh anyway, mirth choked between moans. Jimmy made a grouchy sound behind him and bit him hard on the shoulder but Scott just sniggered and pushed against him, shoving his hips back against Jimmy’s hips. “Ooh. I made a pastor say a bad word.”

“Sometimes I really wish I didn’t find you this hot,” Jimmy complained. He curled a hand over Scott’s hip. Started to thrust into him in tiny increments, growling when Scott made an angry impatient sound and bucked. 

“C’mon,” Scott said, challengingly. “Put your back into it, old man.”

“You’re older than me,” Jimmy said. He snarled as Scott deliberately clenched down. The next thrust nearly shoved Scott face-first into the headboard. Scott yelped, bracing himself as Jimmy reared up and held him still and _there_ was the alpha in Jimmy that was often buttoned down so tight. Jimmy fucked Scott in heavy grinding thrusts that punched him up against the bed, made his arms ache as he braced himself, made him shout each time Jimmy got balls-deep. Scott didn’t last long, striping the sheets under him and clenching tight, but Jimmy didn’t let up and it felt good to be held down and taken, felt good to have someone gasping his name against his skin like a prayer. 

When the knot came it was still a shock. Jimmy tried to pull out as it started to swell, and made a strangled sound as Scott grabbed blindly for his hip and tugged. It _hurt_. Scott was blinking back tears as Jimmy pushed him down to the bed and shuddered against his back and the knot was still growing. Scott let out a squeak and felt Jimmy kiss him soothingly over his back, mumbling nonsense words of praise. He could feel Jimmy’s cock starting to pulse, his hands clenching tight over Scott’s hips. Then he gathered Scott up and turned them carefully onto their flanks, nuzzling Scott’s throat with a low rumbling purr.

“Wow,” Scott said. Everything felt like it ached. In a good way. 

Jimmy sighed, his breath hot against the back of Scott’s neck. “Now we’re stuck.”

“For how long?” 

“Statistically? Ten minutes. Give or take. Go to sleep,” Jimmy said, nudging a kiss against Scott’s cheek. “I’ll clean up.” 

“Not kicking me out?” Scott asked, only half-joking.

Jimmy levered himself up on an elbow with a snort. “You’re not gonna be able to get rid of me now,” he said, and kissed Scott as he started to laugh.

#

“You only think this film is better than John Wick because you’re half Korean,” Scott complained. He was tucked against Jimmy on the ratty couch in his house, and they were ten minutes into _The Villainess_.

“You have no taste,” Jimmy said, though he kissed Scott absently on his temple. 

“This is pretty much just a Korean John Wick film. With a woman. And no dog death.” Yet. Though maybe Scott should just give it time. 

“Quiet. And watch the choreography. Especially the final fight scene. This is how it’s done,” Jimmy said, setting the bowl of popcorn over his lap. 

“Who did they fridge? Husband? Parents?” 

“Just watch the film, Scott.” 

“Do you only like this because it’s an intelligence agency?” Scott asked, suspicious, “while John Wick is about assassins?” 

“Do you normally talk this much when you’re watching a film?” Jimmy asked, though he relaxed as Scott scooped up a fistful of popcorn. 

“Get used to it. I yell at the screen. Get stressed out. Argue with plot devices.” Scott grinned slyly up at Jimmy as he sighed. “Also, I can’t believe that of all films you picked for us to watch together for the first time, you picked this.” 

Jimmy shrugged. “You let me pick.” 

“To be _nice_.” 

“Change the film if you like,” Jimmy said. 

“Nah. I’m gonna watch this whole film and give you a Powerpoint presentation at the end about why you’re wrong about John Wick,” Scott decided. 

Jimmy started to laugh. He kissed Scott on the throat fondly, breathing him in. “You’re on.”

**Author's Note:**

> twitter: manic_intent  
> tumblr: manic-intent


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